Sunday, October 23, 2016

One cold morning in a late August, I woke up at 5 am and looked out the window of our veranda. The light over the lake was luminous, misty and so inviting - how could I go back to bed? I dressed quickly, stuck my flat-topped straw hat on my head, my sneakers on my feet, grabbed my cameras and paddle, and headed for the canoe. At first, I was only going to paddle on the still waterthrough the mist into our two bays. I wanted to catch the full sunrise, which can often be stunning and each one is unique. So I paddled around, followed a beaver for awhile as he headed home from work, and when his tail smacked the water and he went down, I turned the bow toward the eastern far bay where the sun would rise from behind the wall of trees.

I paddled slowly toward the pink glow through the mist. The sunrise was very slow coming up or I was just impatient. It was chilly out and the mist was refusing to scatter. My hands hurt from the cold, so I pulled my sweater over them and kept paddling toward the third bay - in silence - except for the slow dip and swish of my paddle. Half an hour later, I was a third of the way into the eastern bay. Ahead is a wide creek that cuts deep into the marsh at the far end of the bay. The creek connects eventually to a wide beaver dam, and behind it is another watery marsh, and not far off is a nearby lake which one can reach via a very narrow waterway and an old walking trail.But ... I had not left a note for my family. Two days earlier I had had a freak accident with my canoe when I stepped into it off a rocky ledge and realized the rope holding me in place had somehow loosened. I did the splits over the water, with one foot the canoe and the other on a rocky ledge. I fell into the water up to my shoulders, banging my calf on the gunnel of the canoe, and tipping the canoe over, so it took in gallons of water. My weight took me down. I tried to stand up, my head just above the waterline, but my feet were sinking down into the muck. No life jacket. Yes, I have learned that lesson. Finally.

I saved myself from going under and drowning, by wresting one leg out of the muck while holding onto the full and wallowing canoe. By then, the water was past my chin. I finally found one flat rock underwater a good stretch behind me and was able to stabilize my drop into the muck - then, I was able to pull the canoe toward me as wobbly ballast. After a long struggle, I finally balanced both feet on the rock. Now what? I saw a 4 litre plastic bottle in the canoe that I use for ballast and by using my big pocket knife I cut off the base of bottle to create a good scooper.I bailed the canoe for what felt like hours. To make a long story shorter, I fell in once more, trying to get off that rock and into the bailed canoe! So, I bailed it again. This story would take too long to go into here, but thankfully one of my family members heard my shouts (no one heard my emergency whistle which seemed deafening to me!) and I was finally rescued by two family members in a small fishing boat. My husband and family slept through the whole thing, of course. Back to the third bay: Paddling to the creek reminded me I had not left one this morning, so I knew I could be in trouble if I crossed over into bay three and vanished down the creek. But I was halfway there - one of my favourite spots on the lake. So now what?Go back? Go forward?Maybe it was to prove to myself that, as an experienced canoeist, the near drowning was a fluke. I somehow had to put it behind me behind me with a solemn promise that I would never again take the chance of getting off on a ledge to pick cranberries without a life jacket on .... or maybe it was me getting back on the horse in hopes that the nightmare I had during the night wouldn't come back and haunt me.

No one in my family ever gets up before 8 am, except me, so I gave myself 2 1/2 more hours to be back at our dock. And I dug my paddle in.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

The opening to the creek just ahead.

I took the photo below after I left the creek and the sun was up. You can see the entrance to the wide creek was full of huge clots of beaver debris, and chunks of marsh that had broken away during a big flood earlier in the summer. The flood lasted a few weeks - and in the wind and rising water, the marshes on the lake released large pieces of flotsam "islands" of marsh plants and bog that, in this case, closed the creek off to anyone except a canoeist.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

After battling over clogs of flooded marsh,

I headed down the beginning of the creek.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

You can see the mist rising and the bend ahead. I love this photo.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Just around the corner should be the beaver dam. The lily pads are thickening.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

The beaver dam stretched across the span of water

and surrounded by marsh plants.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Alien world

On the other side of the beaver dam is an alien world. There are waterways that lead past low grassy areas where I once saw a moose standing in one of the open ponds eating lilies. It is a dreamland with beaver dens, deer, water fowl and that strange silence you get in the mornings with only faint chirps and songs of small birds in the distance.

If I'd had a partner with me, I'd have hauled the canoe over the dam and gone further, but I was still injured from the accident the day before and ... I hadn't left that promised note, so I turned around. and paddled back home, happy as a beaver with a nice juicy lily pad rhizome to chew on. Memories. And photos. And there is always next summer!

January 1, 2018 Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, R...

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